


Causes for Celebration

by Ralkana



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Cake, Birthday Fluff, Fluff, Friendship, Getting Together, Gift Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-10 20:38:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10446921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/pseuds/Ralkana
Summary: Phil confirms that birthdays are better spent with friends, and Clint learns that success comes with unexpected rewards.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shell/gifts).



> For Shell. It's small, and simple, and a bit late, but I hope it puts a smile on your face. Happy birthday, friend!

 

Phil sighed and shifted restlessly in the hospital bed, sternly telling himself that Level 7 SHIELD agents did not sulk. Spending his 45th birthday alone in SHIELD medical wasn't exactly fun, but there were worse places to spend a birthday. Worse places _he'd_ spent birthdays.

As for being alone, well, the mission that had landed him here with a knife wound in his flank and on concussion check had just ended, and his friends and colleagues were wrapping things up. Debriefing, and cleaning up, and returning gear, and filling out reports, and it wasn't like Phil was incapacitated or in real danger. There was no reason for anyone to sit with him. He was fine.

The second hand dragged through one more interminable circle around the clock, and Phil sighed again. He did his best to settle deeper into the bed, deciding to try and catch some sleep before the nurse came in again to check his vitals and his cognition.

He was just drifting off when he heard the sound of footsteps. Natasha appeared in the open door, a pink cake box in her hands, Clint behind her, and Phil's heart lifted at the sight of them. Natasha's knuckles were scraped, and there was a bruise blooming on Clint's cheekbone, but they were both smiling at him.

"Up for company, boss?" Clint asked, lifting up the bottle of sparkling water he held so Phil could see it. He had a bag full of paper plates, plastic cutlery, and plastic cups in the other hand.

"Of course," Phil answered, resisting the urge to smooth down his hair. They'd all seen each other under much worse circumstances. He raised the head of his bed to sitting position as they walked in, and Phil saw with surprise that Jimmy Woo and Maria Hill were behind them. They all trooped into the room as Natasha set the box on Phil's rolling tray table and unboxed a beautiful cake.

"Sorry it took so long," Clint said as he unpacked cups and plates and forks. "We had to clean up and debrief, and then Nat and I went off base to get the cake, and then we had to figure out which one to get, and figure out how to get it back here, and -- "

"We're here now," Natasha said, covering his mouth to stop the prattle. Clint just grinned at him from behind Nat's hand.

"Thanks for visiting," Phil said, glancing around at the four of them. It wasn't the worst thing in the world to be alone on a birthday, but it was so much better with friends.

"Sitwell's on his way down to get Melinda," Maria told Phil. "They'll be up in a minute or two."

"The nurse said it's a quiet day in Medical," Jimmy added. "She said given the circumstances, she'd overlook us breaking the visitor limit as long as we don't get too loud."

"Guess that means I can't do a striptease on your rolling table, there, Coulson, sorry." Clint said with a smirk, and Phil laughed, hoping the heat he felt at that image wasn't visible in his cheeks.

"Besides, the table is being used for cake," Natasha said as she set out small plates and plastic forks and pulled out a cake knife. "Which is a much better sight than your naked ass, Barton, believe me."

Phil had to disagree with that statement, but he kept it to himself.

"It _is_ a beautiful cake, thank you," Phil told them, studying it briefly before Natasha took a knife to it. It was a tall, round cake with neat white icing, the top dotted with dollops of cream and fresh halved strawberries. It said _Happy Birthday, Phil!_ in simple red piped-on letters, and it looked so cool and refreshing that Phil's mouth watered.

"Happy birthday, Coulson," Maria said, and the others murmured agreement, Jas and Melinda echoing the sentiment as they slipped into the room.

"The nurse vetoed candles," Clint said sadly, and Jasper laughed.

"Well, the amount we'd need would be a fire hazard, so I'm not surprised."

Phil glared halfheartedly at Jasper as Melinda shoved his shoulder, but he was too happy to put much effort into it.

"It's vanilla chiffon cake with fresh strawberries and whipped cream," Natasha said as she sliced into it. It was just as beautiful inside as out.

"It looks fantastic," Jimmy said, helping Natasha by passing out slices of cake. The one he handed Phil with a grin was slightly bigger than the others.

"Nat wouldn't let me get you the Captain America one," Clint said, his mouth turning down in an exaggerated pout as he poured sparkling water into plastic cups.

"My thanks, Agent Romanov," Phil said with a feeling of mingled relief and curiosity.

"Only because it was decorated with fondant," Natasha replied as she moved the table close enough to the bed that Phil could reach a cup. "And fondant tastes terrible. Whipped cream is a much better tasting form of decoration."

"Well, this cake looks amazing," Melinda told her. "Which bakery did you go to?"

"How do you feel, Coulson?" Woo asked, and Phil turned from where Natasha was giving Melinda directions.

Phil shrugged, hiding a wince as his head throbbed. "Headache. You know how it is."

They all nodded. Every SHIELD field agent flirted with bad missions and head trauma at one time or another.

The cake was delicious -- light and moist, and the whipped cream was sweet and fresh. The strawberries were sweet and a little tart, and he took a minute to savor the flavors. As much as he'd have liked to at least _see_ the Cap cake the bakery offered, Natasha had chosen well.

He glanced around the room as he ate his cake, watching as his friends laughed and conversed, enjoying their cake and the brief break from work. It was rare they all got to spend even a few minutes together, and he was so grateful for them all. The only one missing was Nick, and Phil knew Nick thought the others' wouldn't relax as much in the director's presence. He might be right, but Phil missed having him there, all the same.

Phil's gaze lingered on Clint. He had a plate of cake in one hand and a cup in the other, gesturing wildly as he told Jimmy and Melinda what was no doubt a wildly fantastic story. His eyes were wide and guileless, sparkling with mischief as he broke into the rasping laughter Phil loved to hear when his audience groaned at his punchline.

He was beautiful, and Phil allowed himself one long moment of _want_ before he focused his attention back on the crumbs of cake left on his plate. It was his birthday, after all. Nothing wrong with a birthday wish, even if it was fruitless.

Maria's phone dinged, and she sighed, glancing at the clock on the wall.

"I should head back up," she said, and the others made disgruntled sounds of agreement.

"We should get out of your hair and let you rest," Woo said, and Phil smiled.

"What's left of it," he replied wryly.

All of them helped clean up, throwing their used cups and plates and forks into the bag Clint had brought them in. Jasper boxed up what was left of the cake, and Phil knew it would end up in the senior agents' break room.

The small crowd dispersed with another round of birthday wishes, leaving just Clint and Natasha. He handed her the bag of trash, and Phil frowned as he watched them have a silent conversation. Their nonverbal communication was legendary, and Phil could usually follow along fairly well, but this time he was mystified.

"I'll catch up with you later," he murmured, and with one last eyebrow raise, she nodded.

"Feel better soon, Coulson," she said with a smile for Phil. "Happy birthday, and don't let this one give you any more of a headache than usual."

"Thank you, Natasha," Phil said, and she slipped out, leaving him alone with Clint, who suddenly seemed distinctly nervous. Phil tilted his head, studying him. "Clint?"

"I'm glad you're okay, Coulson," Clint said, a little rushed.

Phil smiled, touched at his concern. "Just a flesh wound."

Clint grinned briefly at the reference. "Saw you go down, was pretty glad when you popped right back up."

"Me too," Phil said.

Clint prowled around the room for a minute, wordlessly, and Phil watched him, curious at why he was still there, but willing to give him the time he obviously needed.

He turned back toward the bed, hands clasped loosely behind his back. "Fury called me into his office after debriefing," he said finally. "Part of the reason we took so long to get here with the cake."

"He did?" Phil asked, brow furrowing with concern. Clint's work on the op had been exemplary, as usual, Phil's injury not due to any lapse on Clint's part or anyone else's. He couldn't think of any reason for the director to chastise or admonish Clint, especially in a private dressing down.

"You've got your mama bear frown going there, sir -- relax, it's nothing bad."

"I do not have a mama bear frown, Agent Barton."

"Course you don't, sir," Clint said easily, humoring him, and Phil glared at him. He just laughed. "Anyway, nothing bad. It was... it was good. In fact. Really good."

"Then I'm glad," Phil said, suddenly realizing what Clint's news must be.

"Level six, sir. I'm moving up." His smile was smaller now, shy, his face suffused with a quiet, somewhat disbelieving pride.

"Congratulations, Clint. That's quite an achievement." Phil couldn't help his wide smile, full of pride and happiness for his agent, his friend -- the man he cared so much for.

"Thanks. It's, uh... kind of a lot to process. And... he mentioned something else, too, something he seemed pretty intent on making me understand. I've been thinking about it."

Phil cursed the fact that he was wearing an open-backed hospital gown, stuck in a bed. He felt at a distinct disadvantage for whatever conversation this was becoming.

"Is everything okay, Clint?" he asked in concern.

"Good. I think. Um, maybe."

"You're not really reassuring me, here," Phil said, shifting in the bed and stifling a wince as the movement pulled on his stitches.

"He... Director Fury said that as a senior specialist, I won't be assigned to a particular handler, any more -- that I'll be working with handlers for individual missions, but that they'll be, um, colleagues, he said. Not supervisors. That I'll report to them for ops but that I'll only actually report directly to him and Hill on a regular basis."

Phil's heart sped up, and it was completely obvious to both of them, since he was hooked up to machines monitoring his vital signs. He felt his cheeks heat, but it seemed to give Clint a boost of confidence. He stood straighter, those beautiful eyes focused on Phil's face.

"That's true," Phil said, grateful his voice remained calm and even. _Nick, you glorious bastard._ "Level six specialists and agents are given much more autonomy. It ensures that SHIELD's best assets aren't unnecessarily hampered by a rigid command structure."

Clint paced closer to the bed, and then turned so he was facing the door as he asked, "So this means that the frat regs that mean certain, um, relationships can't happen don't matter anymore, right?"

Phil took a moment to gather his calm. "That's right. Unless you're thinking of starting a relationship with Director Fury or Deputy Director Hill."

Clint whirled around, eyes wide, looking like he couldn't decide if he wanted to laugh or be horrified, but Phil laughed, and Clint did too.

He was still grinning, but his face went softer as he stepped toward Phil. "Would you like to go for dinner with me, sir? Uh, Phil?"

Taking a breath to settle himself, Phil gazed up at Clint. He looked fond, and nervous, and so determined, and Phil's heart gave a thump at just how much he wanted this. "I'd love to. This Saturday?"

Clint blinked at him, and then sat heavily in the visitor's chair. "Really?"

Phil laughed. "Yes, really."

Clint ran a hand over his face, and Phil realized with shock that it was trembling. "I, um... I didn't really think past asking, wasn't even sure I'd get the courage up to do that. Didn't really think you'd say yes if I did."

"You asked without thinking I'd say yes?"

Clint shrugged. "Go big or go home. Don't ask, don't get. All those other stupid sayings. You really want to go out with me?"

Phil decided he didn't want to be lying down for the rest of this conversation, knife wound be damned. He struggled to sit up, and Clint leapt up, moving to help him, lowering the bed rail before bracing him to take pressure off his injury. Phil shivered at the feel of Clint's calloused fingers on his bare shoulders, the firm muscles of Clint's arm against his back. Taking a moment to catch his breath and wait for the throbbing in his head to subside, Phil sat on the edge of the bed, his bare feet cool in the room's air, goosebumps popping out on his skin.

Clint sat back down in the visitor's chair, scooting it a bit closer and leaning forward, his elbows on his knees as he looked up at Phil.

"Yes, Clint," Phil said firmly. "I would love to go out with you."

Clint blew out his breath. "Wow. If I'd have known this was possible, I'd have busted ass to get to level six even faster!"

"I think you're already one of the top two or three agents to make six this fast, Clint," Phil said with a smile. He was proud and happy, and practically giddy.

"If I'd had this as incentive, sir -- Phil -- I'd have broken records."

Phil blushed at Clint's blunt words and his frank admiration, glancing down at his hands in his lap. "I didn't know you were interested, and the last thing I'd have wanted to do was pressure you when you were under my command."

Clint grinned. "But I'm not now."

"No," Phil said, smiling back at him. "You're not."

They just stared at each other, smiling, and Phil didn't know how long it would've gone on if the nurse hadn't knocked on the doorjamb and walked in.

"Oh," she said with surprise. "Sorry, Agent Coulson, I thought all your visitors had left. It's time for vitals and another cognition check."

"Thank you, Ms. Escobedo." Phil said, with as much dignity as he could muster.

She glanced between them. "I'll step out so you can say good night, but I'll be back in a couple of minutes."

Clint stood, looking reluctant to leave. "I'll let you rest."

He stepped close, and Phil automatically raised his face. Clint caught Phil's lips in an easy kiss, stealing his breath. It was gentle and careful, Clint's fingertips coming up to lightly stroke Phil's cheek. Clint gave a happy hum, his lips soft against Phil's before he pulled away.

"Happy birthday, Phil," he said, and Phil caught Clint's hand in his before he stepped back completely, squeezing his fingertips once before releasing them.

He watched Clint go with a smile, vowing never again to dismiss the power of a birthday wish.

**END**

 

**Author's Note:**

> Phil's birthday cake is one I've eaten from a local bakery, [Dolce Bistro](http://dolcecafeandbakery.com/). There's a picture of the whole thing [here](http://ot-foodspotting-production.s3.amazonaws.com/reviews/3930657/thumb_600.jpg), and a picture of a slice [here](https://s3-media3.fl.yelpcdn.com/bphoto/-cy7TSZxNedtW4JDHGk6qA/o.jpg). It's so yummy!


End file.
